


what's my age again

by kingsoftheimpossible



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-28
Updated: 2012-11-28
Packaged: 2017-11-19 18:09:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/576174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingsoftheimpossible/pseuds/kingsoftheimpossible
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>things don't always go according to plan</p>
            </blockquote>





	what's my age again

**Author's Note:**

> for carla because she is carla  
> title from a blink 182 song because i suck at everything

It’s not a coincidence- the run-in in the shifty little electronics store one weekend in November.

Greg might think it’s a coincidence, and Louis might think it’s a coincidence, and Liam thinks it’s all a bit stupid- but Harry Styles is actually a manipulative little bastard despite his angelic face, and Liam learned a long time ago that almost nothing in Louis’ life is a coincidence thanks to the curly-headed devil child. He’s also learned that it’s easiest just to go along with whatever Harry has planned, because doing otherwise results in weeks of pouting and being a generally grumpy pain in the ass.

So whether he thinks it’s a good idea or not, Liam casually suggests a trip to a very specific little secondhand electronics store, and Louis is just restless enough to fly off the couch and out the door, no questions asked.

Liam’s gotten about fifty texts from Harry- _r u there yet? hurry up wat if u miss them? pls hurry me n grimmy worked hard for this_ \- and no amount of _WERE ALREADY THERE_ seems to be calming the little shit down. But Liam’s just about as nervous anyway, because- well...

They all love Louis, they really do. Can’t help but love him. But he’s been a right bastard since he and Eleanor broke things off ( _months ago_ ), and if Harry thinks getting romanced by Greg James will put him in a better mood, Liam and the others are ready and willing to do everything in their power to make it happen.

Even stand in the same aisle of a dusty electronics shop for well on half an hour while Louis waxes poetic about how this seems like the kind of place Harry and that awful hipster prick would have a field day in. Liam’s anxious, trying to keep Louis interested in the the little shop as long as possible, because sooner or later- please god sooner-

The little bell above the shop door tinkles with a deceptive innocence, as if weeks of filthy plotting have not led up to this moment. Liam almost cries from relief when he sees Matt Fincham and someone tall and cheeky and too-good-looking enter, and he almost drops his phone in his rush to text Harry about how his stupid plan might actually work.

“Oi! Is that Liam from One Direction?” Greg calls, and Liam flinches because usually shouting his name in public ends up with about 500 screaming girls mobbing him- luckily this shop isn’t exactly where the One Direction fanbase tends to spend their free time.

He grins, waving at Greg and Finchy, willing with all his might for Greg to acknowledge Louis as well. And boy does he.

“And Noel, too!”

Louis tenses up so fast Liam thinks he might spontaneously combust.  Liam’s _we did it!_ text to Harry quickly changes to something along the lines of _abort mission!_  when Louis does that dramatic slow turn on his heel he always uses when he’s about to _tear someone apart._

Greg’s sunny smile falters a bit when Louis looks up at him, one hand on his hip, the other fisted at his side, with a grin that’s more fangs than teeth. Liam and Finchy lock eyes, the two sort-of-but-not-really-willing participants who brought about what was probably quickly about to become a shit storm.

“Greg James,” Louis says, voice high and a bit too cheerful. Liam remembers that voice quite well- remembers the interviewer running to the bathroom sobbing hysterically while the other boys shifted uncomfortably around a rather smug Louis. He’s an angel but his bad days are scenes straight from Dante’s _Inferno_.

Greg plasters his smile back on, though it’s clear that he’s realized by now that he fucked up a teensie bit. Liam is terribly uncomfortable and he really want to intervene, but there’s a vein twitching in Louis’ neck and Liam’s a great guy but he doesn’t know Greg James well enough to throw himself on top of a live grenade. He absent-mindedly fiddles with one of the old boomboxes on a shelf by his elbow, winces when it actually turns on and starts screaming an eerily warped rendition of “Hit Me Baby, One More Time.” ** ** **  
******

Any hopes that the moment will be funny enough to derail Louis are lost when Greg says, “Sorry about that. You’re Lewis, aren’t you?”

Liam wants to die.

Finchy looks as if he might sink into the floor.

Louis has this look on his face- like he’s the human embodiment of summer honey dripping off the comb- and his voice is positively holy when he says, “Almost got it, love. How about one more try. Think you can manage?”

Greg’s cheeks flame red, but he’s still cheerful when he says, “Louis, then? That sounds right, doesn’t it, Finchy?”

Finchy looks as if he’d rather chew off his own face than be involved in the affairs of pop stars and radio djs. Liam knows the feeling. He catches Finchy’s eye, gives a little jerk of his head to the back of the store, and the two of them slip off while Louis keeps laying on these thickly sweet compliments that have to end with his hands around Greg’s throat.

Greg peers over Louis’ head, waits until Finchy and Liam have hidden themselves off in a corner ‘away from the danger’, and then his face splits into an earnest grin.

“God, they’re the biggest idiots- d’ya see Liam nearly shit himself when the radio came on?”

Louis grins back, stepping a bit closer and resting his hands on Greg’s hips when he’s sure no one’s watching.

“Where’d you want it- behind the album stacks or in the bathroom?” he asks, rubbing his thumbs over the sharp bones of Greg’s hips.

“You teenage pop stars and your sentimental romanticism,” sighs Greg, giving his best dramatic, long-suffering swoon to an imaginary camera a few feet behind Louis’ head. Louis pinches his ass- hard- with those quick little fingers and drowns out Greg’s yelp with a loud,

“ _What the fuck do you mean you ‘don’t remember me?_ ’ _We co-hosted a radio show for fucking hours and you can’t even get my fucking name right?_ ” and it has the desired effect of making Liam and Finchy nearly jump out their skins where they’re fiddling with old vhs players ten feet away. They shuffle even farther away- go to the walkmans and put headphones on under the pretense of listening to old cassettes.

When Louis looks back at Greg, his eyes are positively sparkling with delight, and he hisses, “ _Little devil!_ ” into Louis’ ear before dragging him to the back wall, behind stacks of albums that reach floor-to-ceiling. It’s a tight fit- the shop owner apparently didn’t have giggling 20-something makeouts in mind when he made the floorplans.

It’ll do though- they’ve managed weirder places, Matt Fincham’s cluttered desk at the Radio 1 offices one of Greg’s fondest achievements. He’d almost called to brag to his mum about it before he came back to his senses. He’d texted her instead.

Louis’ on his tiptoes, and Greg quite likes the peek of straining calf and ankle he gets before Louis has his mouth pressed to Greg’s neck, whispering giggly little snippets about how fucking stupid Harry and Grimmy are.

“It’s been months and they still haven’t caught on!” Louis crows in a hush, dragging his sharp little teeth over Greg’s collar bone. Greg would love to answer, but he’d also love to have his tongue halfway down Louis’ darling little throat and, well, priorities.

When he comes up for air a moment later, he pants a quick, “Missed you,” into Louis’ fringe, bending his neck at an awful angle to press a kiss against Louis’ forehead- it’s as close to feelings as the little diva will let him get, and he’s okay with that. But it’s still nice to say.

Louis hums an appreciative little noise, pursing his lips for a second before reaching up and twerking one of Greg’s nipples, twisting his fingers sharply and catching Greg’s sharp noise with his mouth.

“Cheeky,” Greg breathes into him, and Louis just grins against his lips, doing his best to press his hips up for some sort of friction but-

“Christ, you’re too fucking tall!” he groans, dropping his forehead against Greg’s chest in exasperation. Greg just laughs, does a quick maneuver so that Louis’ the one pressed against the back wall and he can work a leg between Louis’ thighs- and Louis wastes no time using it to his advantage, grinding against him, tugging him down by his shirt collar and nipping at his jaw and neck with that wicked little mouth.

Which is all well and fine until Greg’s hard as a fucking brick and can barely see straight while Louis’ just merrily rutting off against his thigh. He’s starting to wish he’d picked the bathroom because truth be told, they do have a bit of trouble with positioning unless there’s a counter or bed (or desk)- but then Louis is dropping to his knees so gracefully and easily it must be in his fucking job description, hands sliding down Greg’s chest and belly and settling on the clasp of his jeans.

Louis’ got a challenge in his eyes- but when doesn’t he? He tugs the button lightly, giving a pointed look around at the stacks of dusty albums, a look that says, _I’m about to blow you two aisles away from your boss and my best friend, are we cool?_ And Greg has to shove his own knuckles in his mouth to keep from laughing hysterically or shouting “GOD PLEASE” or maybe both, so just he gives a little affirmative nod of his head and wiggles his hips a bit in anticipation.

The nimble little fingers have his fly open, his pants shoved down, and his cock out in such quick succession that it makes his head spin a bit- and then Louis just gives another one of his little hums, says, “What will Finchy think if he sees you throat-fucking a twenty year old in the back of an electronics store?” and with that question firmly lodged in Greg’s brain, he wraps a hand around the base of Greg’s dick, swipes his tongue over the head, and doesn’t really give Greg time to think up a retort.

Greg is firmly wishing he were the one against the wall right now- his knees are already shaking with every flick of Louis’ devil tongue and all that’s holding him up are his palms splayed on the wall. And Louis _knows it_ , the little bastard! Greg can tell from the way his eyes are crinkled at the edges, laughing even with Greg’s cock half down his throat.

“Arse,” Greg hisses at him.

Louis pulls off him with an obscenely loud POP- Liam and Finchy have to hear. Hell, the shop owner has to hear all the way up at the register.

“Having trouble, love?” Louis asks, all wide-eyed innocence and voice gone gravelly. “Getting too old for this, probably?”

He’s infuriating and adorable and completely obscene with spit all the way down his chin and his pupils blown wide and his erection perfectly obvious in his tight jeans, and Greg thinks, not for the first time, that he’s in well over his head with this one. Instead of saying as much, he pulls Louis to his feet, rushes them both out from behind the stacks and into the bathroom, not letting himself think about the fact that he’s twenty-six years old, sprinting through a secondhand shop with a fully visible hardon.

And that’s absolutely fine, because as soon as the bathroom door shuts and locks behind them, Louis is on tiptoes, bent over the sink, swaying his ass and grinning over his shoulder, holding a condom and a travel-size bottle of lube he pulled from god-knows-where.

Greg nearly chokes, not sure what he was expecting but perfectly happy with what he’s getting.

“Got myself ready a bit before we came,” Louis says distractedly, impatiently pushing his jeans over his hips and letting them sag around his knees. “Shouldn’t take much.”

 _No kidding,_ Greg thinks nearly coming right then and there like a fucking teenager at the sight of Louis Tomlinson bent over the sink in a public restroom with his perfect little bum in the air while he talks about fingering himself like it’s not the single greatest thing Greg’s heard in his entire life.

“Well hurry up, old man!” Louis prods, wiggling his hips and sticking his tongue out over his shoulder. “Liam’s not the sharpest tool or whatever but even he’s going to notice if we’re still in here come his next birthday-”

Greg snatches the goods from Louis’ hand, slicking his fingers up and- jesus, Louis wasn’t joking. Two fingers slide in easily, threes a bit of a stretch, but Louis is already reaching back and pushing his hand away, saying, “Just get on with it before I’m as old as you are,” and Greg can’t say no to that. Once the condom’s on and he’s in place, he takes a moment to commit this to memory, because really how many times in his life can he hope for semi-public sex with a real-life miniature Greek statue? The quiver in Louis’ thighs from the effort of staying on his toes is absolutely delicious, and if Greg never gets to see it again it will be a tragedy.

“Paging Mr. James, would appreciate being fucked sometime today if it’s no problem,” Louis drawls, an awful little shit even with his pants around his ankles.

“Well, if you’re so hard up for it,” Greg manages with a rather good try at sounding exasperated, but he probably just sounds really, really excited.

And he presses in, laying his chest flush to Louis’ back and mouthing at Louis’ neck just to keep himself quiet, because no matter how many times they do this, it’s _really fucking good._

“There’s a good lad,” Louis says, but it’s more of a breathy moan than the sarcastic ribbing he intended. Greg bites at his earlobe, whispers hush with enough hot breath and tongue to make Louis’ hips jerk. When they’re as close as physically possible, Greg takes a deep breath, drops his forehead against the back of Louis’ neck, asks, “How do you want it, darling?”

“Fast, and get a hand on me,” Louis answers immediately, pushing himself back against Greg to emphasize the fast part.

And that’s how it goes- Greg slides a hand over Louis’ hips and adorable tummy and ends up with his hand wrapped around him, gives a cursory tug just to set things up, pulls out a bit, and then slams back, running his hand over the slickness of Louis’ cock and sinking his teeth into the delicate curve of Louis’ shoulder. Louis’ all gasps and indelicate curses, and he reaches back to grab and pull at Greg’s hair where he’s still firmly latched onto his skin.

He barely manages, “Harder!” before Greg has his free arm wrapped around his hips, lifting him further onto his tiptoes and driving into him with truly applaudable force.

Dreamy teen pop star that he is, Louis sets up a constant rhythm of, “Shit fuck shit fuck shit,” his voice edging higher and breathier and then-

“Shhh-” ending in a hiss as he comes rather spectacularly on Greg’s hand and his own stomach and the front of the sink, and then he yelps when Greg bites down hard and comes as well, hips stuttering and fist tightening around Louis’ too-sensitive cock.

And they are an absolute mess, covered in sweat and more than a little cum, not to mention whatever filth resides in public sinks. But they’re laughing and breathless and Greg thinks Louis looks like an angel with the magnificent bruise blooming between his neck and shoulder, and Louis thinks Greg looks glorious with his hair sticking out at every possible angle. They clean up as best they can, but there’s really no hiding it.

Louis is running the fifth wet napkin over his shirt, trying to get the muck off, and Greg is watching him fondly.

“Bit of a shame the secret’ll be out, isn’t it?”

Louis grins back at him, tossing the napkin into the bin. “Yeah, what’ll Harry and Nick do with their free time now?”

“Probably fuck about as usual.”

It gets quiet, then, both of them standing a bit too close and feeling a bit too much like friends now for this to be the casual fuck-buddies they’d meant to start out as. The question, though unspoken, is heavy in the air. _What do we do now?_

Luckily, there’s an impatient knock at the door, Liam’s voice sounding high and worried from the other side. “Louis? Greg? Are you in there?”

They grin at each other- serious questions can wait. All that matters at the moment is the chance to make Liam Payne blush so hard he passes out.


End file.
